


1:48:14

by nic_takes_Ls (nic_L)



Series: The Bombs In Your Head & How To Make Them Stop [3]
Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 1, 1 hour 48 minutes 14 seconds, 1..!--48.';-14----, 1:48---, 1:48--14, 1:48:14, 1;48;14, 48, :48:, ARENT YOU COLD, Gen, IT IS 1-48-14, Wilbur Soot monologues at 1:48am, do you like the number 48, glowing regards!, it is 1:48:14, its so nice things end with a bow on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic_L/pseuds/nic_takes_Ls
Summary: It is cold.It is November 16th.It is currently 1:48:14 in the morning.
Series: The Bombs In Your Head & How To Make Them Stop [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015807
Comments: 11
Kudos: 75





	1:48:14

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO THIS WAS ORIGINALLY HIDDEN IN LIKE-
> 
> A MINI ARG???
> 
> I HAD MADE???
> 
> you had to click all the links and shit that led you to multiple tumblrs and then piece this link together HHHHH
> 
> i forgot to make it not anonymus but here:
> 
> it's also really cryptic n shit and was based on someone's reddit theory where they theorized that WE (the audience/viewers/fandom) were the traitors bc we always talked about everything and i thought it was rad, and then was like LOL LEMME WRITE THIS REALLY CRYPTIC SHIT IN ONE NIGHT AND MAKE A TINY ARG WTF
> 
> i waited till 1:48 am to publish it on the 16th bc i thought it was cool and did this really dumb copypasta-esque thing to announce it on the writers block discord that had a secret message with all the capital letters 
> 
> so yeah
> 
> im slightly sorry i am a cryptic shit and had wayy to much fun with this
> 
> (there may also be another hidden message if u read 
> 
> |  
>  |  
>  |  
>  |  
>  V
> 
> the first letter of each paragraph?? idk maybe)

It is cold.

It is November 16th.

It is currently 1:48:14 in the morning.

Wilbur watches the seconds on his wristwatch flip to a 15, then 16, and still they march on. He tears his gaze from the clock face and to the communicator on his other wrist.

Even without a stream, his offline chat isn’t empty, a different lone stranger sending some message off to the void every few minutes.

A single message has arrived late, popping in the chat silently. ‘1:48:14!!’

Readily, he smiles.

“‘Ello, viewer. Good job[.](https://editorsfinalpage.tumblr.com/)”

There’s a swish of long grass brushing against his worn leather trench coat as he stands up, communicator turned off, and walks slowly, ambling through the woods.

His curling bangs brush into his eyes and catch on his lashes. Wilbur tucks them behind his ear and glances down at Manberg from the hill he stands on.

Either sleeping or preparing to die, everyone in this server is. Maybe both. Probably both, Wilbur muses.

The past few days have been Tubbo grinding out netherite, Quackity attempting to ease alliances, Tommy doing- whatever the fuck he’s been doing.

Rummaging for a chance to survive the war on the horizon- literally- and in all in front of an audience.

A pack of viewers watch their every move, waiting for the one to slip and and reveal their allegiance.

“It’s funny how you really expect one of us to just- Out ourselves like that.” Wilbur sneers down at his communicator, chat still and the latest message still 1:48:14.

“Tommy’s building a railroad! He must be the traitor! Fundy wrote the spy book just to get everyone’s trust! Traitor! Techno literally said he doesn’t want Schlatt to be outnumbered.

“Oh wait. No, wait, I think that one is likely.” Wilbur blinks at the grass under his boots and back out at the black and red flag. “But some of your ideas-“

“Really, Phil isn’t even on this server. Not even whitelisted, and you’re all expecting him to- what?”

“Skip out of the woods and go; Oh, I, being both entirely new on this server and not having a motivation, a role in the show, must be the one to betray us all!” Wilbur scoffs and slumps down to the ground and sits on a stone, distant torches glittering in his glasses’ reflection.

In the shadowed wood below, a voice is faintly heard, a shout that to his ears sounds a whisper.

It’s from Pogtopia, probably Tommy’s if Wilbur can still actually hear it.

In a melancholic and yet somehow malevolent way, Wilbur’s face turns into a sunny smile. 

“Kind of silly, isn’t it? Knowing that someone is going to stab you in the back, and still bothering to stay close enough for them to touch?”

“Expend time, knowing that your so-called friend is going to be the face that sticks a sword in your stomach?” Wilbur’s smile has faded. He winces, as if remembering.

“Even your best friend could kill you.” 

“Probably has better chances, a friend. Lava over the head works nicely.”

Quackity’s answering yell- it’s obvious, higher pitched and a bubble of laughter in it, rises from the forest.

“Ugh. Lava. Kills you dead, that one, and hurts like fuck.” Wilbur reaches for the side of his face and strokes down a barely visible stretch of pink, shiny and old. “Anyways.”

“I, for one, think it’s useless to try narrowing the identity of- well, whoever decides to fuck Pogtopia over.”

Elegantly, Wilbur rises to his feet once more. 

“Tubbo definitely keeps trying. I don’t think he’s going to get very far, honestly.”

“In fact, didn’t Dream say traitors? With an S?”

“It should be fun later, right? The streams?”

It’s a freezing gust of wind that blows Wilbur’s hair out of his face, both eyes now visible and glittering coldly. He does not shiver.

“Keeping secrets is hard for you, isn’t, it chat?” Wilbur is gazing pensively at his hands. Only his mouth and expressions move.

“Everyone, within literally a day of me telling- You! You and Tommyinnit and Techno and Tubbo and Dream- the only people that I wanted to know, about my plans.”

“Everyone on that server knew that somewhere on that map, I’d lodged a stack of TNT. No wonder Schlatt managed to find it.”

“Problem is, it happens with everything. Fundy’s buttons? Chat had already spammed his name a hundred times. You want coords? Given as soon as it’s said. Nothing is a secret if it’s told.”

“Could it be that is the reason the traitor hasn’t shown themselves?” Wilbur pulls his hands out of his coat and a tiny pale sliver of wood with a blush-red tip is struck against the stone he stands on and alight. “You want to know what I think?”

“Of all the people of this server?” Wilbur laughs. It’s disjointed and wild, and he sounds close to sobbing. He holds his fingers close to the flame dancing on that little stick of wood in his hand. 

“L’Manberg, Manberg, whatever you call it, the likeliest person to really, truly, betray it?” He blinks at his communicator and rips it off his arm. Holds it to the flame in his fingertips and watches it darken and burn. “Is you. As for Dream’s little friend...”

“Darling, you’ll just have to wait and see.” Wilbur smiles. He holds the match to his mouth and blows it out. “It's so nice when things end with a bow on top. See you on the streams.”

It is cold. 

It is November 16th. 

It is no longer 1:48:14, and the sun is rising.


End file.
